


paper hearts.

by Audvocado



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, My first fic, POV Female Character, Peter Can't Lie, Peter Parker is a Smol Bean, Tony Stark Has A Heart, coffee shop AU, fem!reader - Freeform, idk - Freeform, karen has a lot of sass, like a lot of fluff, no smut tho, reader is honestly too aesthetic for me, reader is shy, reader wears glasses, shy!peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audvocado/pseuds/Audvocado
Summary: you were fine without him.when a certain arachnid boy, torn between worlds, hurtles into your back corner, sparks fly. but is peter parker's secret too much for you? and what will he do, once the hurt settles in?





	1. black coffee.

it wasn’t a burning fall of golden leaves and a post-summer glory, but a deep autumn. the trees shed their fragrant green for a woolen brown, and golden sunlight cast long rosy shadows on 10 elm street, which is where you were.

bean was the name of the café. it might be gone now, who knows, but it was at that time your second home. you sat in the back sipping black coffee and breathing in the rich, woodsy smell of the season. you wished you had a perfume to capture it: pines, sandalwood, coffee, pumpkin, a hint of woodsmoke (perhaps left over from the blazing campfires of the summer, you thought).  
truth was, you would have been fine without him. you spent a million dreamy nights in the soft lines of your bed, drank the same cup of coffee every morning; you drove leisurely around the town in a rackety ancient jalopy which you named clyde, and sat under your favorite tree, which was now clad in mocha-brown and named bonnie.

but as the fates would have it, that was when you saw him. he was sharp, all diagonal lines and crisp grey slacks. tousled brown hair fell, if the cliché could be forgiven (you thought), over honey-brown eyes. you drank him in, eye color and all, like a shot of patrón. he paused before bean, as if catching the caramel glint off your wire-rimmed glasses, and smiled in a way that made your breath hitch like a sewing machine sputtering to a tangled stop. you suddenly were conscious of your own body warmth, the scratchiness of your sweater, the rips in your jeans. you chastised these thoughts, knowing the chances of ever seeing him again (let alone meeting him) were slim. to you, he looked too important for you. still, you smoothed your hair and re-laced your well-worn doc martens.

as expected, he turned away and walked past. you sighed and sipped your coffee.


	2. worlds collide.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok we're back! here's where stuff starts to happen, let's gooooo

the next day, you woke up half-expecting his face to be in front of you. his clean dress shirt and soft mouth were burned into the back of your eyelids. you got up and stretched; the lingering cotton-and-wool smell in your apartment was intoxicating. usually, you would have made a cup of coffee, but you forewent this and made your way to the bathroom instead, where you popped an elegant glass bottle of never-before-used chanel and spritzed it liberally over yourself. cursing your laziness and obsession with the stranger at the same time, you scrubbed your face with soap that smelled of peaches (the ghost of summer, you thought) and went to your closet.

there was little to wear. an assortment of sweaters, jeans, and hand-painted t shirts greeted you. the newest shoes you owned were a pair of slightly dusty yellow vans. you tried to do your hair, but left it down in the end.

your mind warred violently with your body as you meandered (as nonchalantly as possible) downtown. bean was still there, and you breathed a sigh of relief, almost believing it had all been in your head. you crossed your fingers, hoping not to wake up, and plunged headfirst into the jumble of coffee and the smell of leftover campfires.

your breath left you delicately. your cheeks burned like the leaves could have, would have last fall if not for the depth and immersive brown-ness of this year. summer had been plums and august thunder. nature took a breather.

these vaguely philosophical thoughts filled your head such that you almost missed him. by some stroke of luck or a small push by destiny, the honey-eyed stranger decided on a whim to visit bean. maybe he’d already had his cup of coffee, maybe he was searching for the glint of your glasses again, but the trilling brightness of the bell on the door both hailed his arrival and awoke sleeping beauty from her stupor.

you sat up straight and crossed your legs.

to be completely honest, the quizzical glance he gave you was imaginary, but he did order a drink: a small black coffee, not iced please and thank you. you beamed down at your matching cup. the sun kissed your cheeks and brushed your hair from your face.

you were horrified when there was a call for black espresso for peter! it wasn’t the name, or the drink, but the voice. shanice was a hopeless flirt. you looked at her delicate chocolate curls, flawless caramel skin, and dainty aristocratic nose. she was all melanin and moonlike radiance. you knew it wasn’t shanice’s fault her voice poured like molten gold and her white shirt fell over shapely shoulders like the dress of an angel, but you felt stabs of envy still. you looked at the cup. shanice had written her name and number with the words _pick me up at 7._

peter, if that was really his name, picked up the cup and smiled (both sweet and tragically beautiful, you thought). he took a sip. something flashed in his eyes before he grinned politicly; carefully; at shanice, said thanks, and sat down near you. you were terrified he could hear your heartbeat. he didn’t sip the coffee again. you were trying your best not to lean over and rest your head on his shoulder. not daring to look over at him, you took a gulp from your mug and almost poured it all over yourself. (smooth, you thought, nervously watching the steam frost your glasses.) stranger-peter watched this and smiled vaguely. you could swear you could stargaze in his eyes.

he leaned over conspiratorially and whispered.

_-the coffee is horrible, i’m not taking another sip._

you flushed porcelain pink. _i know, drink it anyway._ you peered over at where shanice watched your exchange with dismayed eyes. _shanice is sweet, she deserves you._

peter looked back at the mentioned melanin goddess and the lines of his face softened.

_-she seems nice._

_-yeah,_ you agreed, dying a little bit inside as you said it. (advertising for the enemy, great job, you thought, then chased away your dramatic thought with a bitter glass of realism.) an awkward silence descended (another cliché, what am i thinking, you thought). you memorized the veins and the long, nimble fingers wrapped idly around the cup before he spoke again.

_-she reminds me of this girl i used to think i was in love with._

_-who?_

_-her name was— well. it’s not important anymore, i guess, but bree._

_-you’re right, it’s not important anymore,_ you nodded, not able to bear listening to peter’s love life tales any longer. _what’s your name?_

_-not very observant then?_

_-no, i mean, yes, i know it’s peter._ you cringed at your own tepid flustered voice. _but is it just peter or…_

 _-yeah, peter,_ said peter cautiously. _peter parker._

 _-well, peter parker,_ you replied, congratulating yourself for a quick answer, _you seem like you’ve been through a lot._

peter parker hesitated.

 _-yes. it’s been seven years and it’s still hard._ he leaned back and looked at you expectantly; waiting for you to press; waiting for you to force your way into his personal life. he breathed out when you didn’t seem to recognize the name. tension released from his lungs like air from a party balloon and his shoulders dropped.

 _-mmm._ you tried to sound understanding. the only person you’d ever lost was a grandmother, distant as the farthest star and cold as a knife, besides the decimation, of course. shanice is a good listener.

_-are you her acting wingwoman?_

you shook your head rapidly. _god no, i’m just stating facts._

_-which means…_

_-she’s cute._ you paused, reconsidering, before you rushed headlong into your own self-made tornado. _you’re cute._

 _-so you’re gold-digging._ he sounded disappointed.

 _-how could i gold dig? i don’t know who you are!_ you reverted, in the instant it takes to blink, to the defensive. you closed in on yourself like a withering flower.

peter snorted. _there’s not a single person who’s not after my curse,_ he insisted. it was then that you caught the flash in his eyes again, a hollow darkening, a knowledge of something too complex for men.

 _-i don’t know who you are_ , you repeated, suddenly compelled to make peter like you. something softer showed in his demeanor that you wanted to bring out. _i get it. you don’t know i’m y/n l/n, that i love sweaters, that autumn is my favorite season._ peter looked surprised at your sudden outburst but remained (rather thoughtfully, if a tad glacially) silent.

you took a breath, calming the storm, and settled like ash back into your chair.

 _-but,_ you said, _i don’t know who you are. i don’t know if you prefer sunsets over sunrises or how you feel about late nights and cities or small towns, the mountains or the sea, the earth or space. all of a sudden, peter’s eyes were those of a shy schoolboy. all i know is peter, who has a name and a face but no personality._

 _-oh,_ said peter, looking small and soft. he paused, hoping he wasn’t overstepping with this girl who sat in front of him like the roses that climbed the pale-cream stucco walls of his house. _hey, y/n l/n. nice to meet you, i’m peter. i love the sunrise and late nights. i grew up in a big city but prefer small towns. i love the sea and outer space. and i think i’d like to get to know you._

fireworks exploded like stars in your chest, but you sipped your coffee to quench the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you met shanice and peter! these are still the introductory parts, but after we delve into shanice's character, stuff really gets going-- how do we react when we learn about peter's part-time job?


	3. the two that got away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shanice gets a voice.

shanice was not having a good day.

first it had been an errant text from seth, who’d called her the name of another girl. then, she had gotten pulled over on her way to work by some redneck cop. and then, this peter guy who’d left her for the quiet mouse of a girl who sat every thursday in the back of bean. this girl would never know the struggles of spanish harlem, nor want to cast what little melanin she had out and away from her.

(lightskin girls get everything, she thought.)

her mother, estrella, wore the sunkissed with pride. she kept her head up like a princess. estrella belonged in the palace of olite, among the old kings. not here, lingering like her celestial namesake among the grimy sidewalks of downtown afton valley. her father, darius, was power. he was the king to estrella’s princess. his skin shone like dark wine and his teeth showed silver in the moonlight. compared to them, shanice the barista, shanice the broke student, shanice who couldn’t get the boy— shanice was nothing. even to the modest girl in the back of bean who tipped fifty percent every thursday.

for that whole week, peter and y/n met at ten a.m. in the back of bean, like clockwork. she always arrived first, and he showed up a minute or so later. shanice felt like a scientist gazing into a petri dish, studying the two: y/n gave off a faint smell of peaches and drank her coffee through a straw, peter smelled clean and masculine, like musk and pine, y/n crossed her legs whenever she heard the bell announcing peter’s arrival, peter carried a notebook bound in creamy silver leather which read stark industries in all caps and wrote only in blue ballpoint pen. it was the last straw for shanice when seth finally sent her the breakup text. _sorry babygirl_ , he said, _but i just don’t feel that feeling anymore. it’s best for me that i take a breather_. (best for you, shanice wanted to scream, but what about me? do you care? did you ever?) she’d lost seth, that _cabrón_ , she’d lost peter before she even knew him, but most importantly, she’d lost her sense of self-worth. it had all gone to y/n.

shanice broke down in a nest of chinatown pillows at home before curling up with a tub of ice cream. estrella alamilla-abioye arrived that night from her extra shift to find her daughter’s hair matted with tears and her body surrounded by tissues. in a watery voice, shanice explained what had happened.

_-ohhhh, mi cariña,_ said estrella. _you were always too good for that seth anyway. as for pete— bueno, sounds like just a case of— ay, los dios, what is it called?_

_-a crush, mamá?_

_-no, the— thingy, the teenage girl sickness, heartworm?_

shanice chuckled. her oblivious princess of a mother never failed to bring smiles into a bad day, as if the light reflected off some unseen tiara. _heartache, mamá, heartache._

_-ahh, yes, heartache._

_-oh, mamá_ , smiled shanice, curling like a scorned kitten into her mother’s side. estrella’s calloused hands, worn from long days of hard manual labor, ran themselves through shanice’s curly tangle of hair. gradually, her tears dried.

shanice took a warm bath until the hot water ran out. she put on a onesie and watched conspiracy theories on her laptop. it was then, like magic, that things began to go right:

_[917-929-2456: hey. just realized i never texted, oops lol]_

_[shanicexo: sry, who is this?]_

_[917-929-2456: peter lmao shoulda told u to start w]_

_[shanicexo: ohh lol hey. wyd?]_

_[peter/future bae: hangin out w some friends]_

_[shanicexo: anyone id kno?]_

_[peter/future bae: nahhh bro]_

_[peter/future bae: xcept for y/n lol, were watching the breakfast club]_

_[shanicexo: o. k ill leave u too it]_

_[shanicexo: to*]_

_[shanicexo: see u tmrw?]_

_[shanicexo: k byee]_

_read at 11:34 pm._

shanice sighed and turned off her phone. maybe things would go right tomorrow, at ten a.m. sharp… if she could talk to peter without y/n there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to leave kudos and comment! next chapter will probs be up later tonight or tomorrow, depending on my level of focus lol <3


	4. changes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff. lots and lots of fluff. and also our first real mention of anthony dumbass stark!

peter woke up on the couch. for a minute, he panicked— where was the clean glass of the stark tower— but then he realized where he was: in y/n’s nest of an apartment, snuggled among blankets that smelled strongly of milk tea. y/n was snoring softly, nestled into the crook of his arm. he was taken by a sudden and overwhelming desire to have something to remember the moment by.

_-karen._ he felt guilty talking, even if his voice was husky and quiet in the morning.

_-hello, peter._

peter, feeling sheepish, murmured, _take a picture of y/n for me, please._

_-this isn’t going to be like liz again, is it?_

peter sighed. _karen…_

_-fine. but i’m letting friday know_. she snapped the photo, purposely using a cringe-inducingly loud shutter sound.

y/n rustled and yawned. _hello_ , she said blearily before realizing who’d fallen asleep on her couch. _peter! where are ned and michelle?_

_-they left after you fell asleep._

_-oh. breakfast?_

peter tucked his phone behind his back and pushed shanice’s hopeful texts out of his mind. _yeah, breakfast. hope it’s not too much to ask, but—_

_-black coffee?_ she finished his sentence easily.

_-yes, please,_ said peter eagerly. he was delighted that y/n knew how he liked his coffee already. since highschool, things had changed: he’d worked on coming out of his shell, he’d gone to mit, he’d learned he was the inheritor of a solid ⅔ of tony stark’s earthly possessions, which included billions of dollars and balenciaga boots that read _thotticus prime_ on the back. pepper and may tried to keep it a secret, but tony’s dumbass lawyer had leaked just a little to a pretty blonde reporter who claimed to know tony personally. now the tabloids were full of people trying to theorize: who is peter parker, why did he know tony stark, is he the spider-man? of course, y/n was oblivious. and of course, she still treated him like royalty, because that was who she was.

_-peter?_ the latter angel was waving her hand in front of his face. earth to peter—

_-huh?_ a peek of the old “got a churro from an old lady” peter showed momentarily before he covered it back up again. _i was spacing, wasn’t i?_

she giggled and it was like champagne. _yeah. toast or croissant?_

_-croissant,_ said peter in his best french accent.

_-what is “quackson”?_ she asked.

_-i did not say quackson,_ i said croissant, insisted peter, crossing his arms petulantly. _croissant, croissant, croissant._

_-quackson, quackson, quackson,_ she snickered in imitation. they were both laughing now.

the next few moments were all a blur. y/n stood on tiptoe to reach for the croissants and at the same time, peter went under her arm for the coffee; y/n tripped over him, he caught her, and then they were nose-to-nose.

a rosy blush unfurled faintly over her nose and cheeks and for one of the first times, she smiled in earnest. it wasn’t a tiny grin or a cute smirk. it was a real, honest-to-goodness smile that spread honey-slow over her face, like peter’s presence made her muscles jump and tummy flutter.

_-hey,_ said peter, softly. and just like that, it was over. y/n pulled away, averting her eyes, and grabbed the croissants without a word.

but something had changed at that point, and it wouldn’t go back to the way it was before. there was no more tension when they brushed hands. peter pulled y/n into hugs from behind, breathing in the soothing peachy smell of the face soap she used. she sketched him sitting, staring off into the distance, sleeping. they had weekly movie nights together with ned and mj, sat in the back of bean people-watching, and ordered black coffee on the same tab which they split.

yes, something had changed. and peter didn’t want it to go back to the way it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur welcome for the fluff and the thotticus prime boots... ;) as always leave kudos and comment! next chapter will probs be out tomorrow or the day after.


	5. park meetings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: one very very very small far from home spoiler, all it does is mention mysterio (that's jake gyllenhaal's character in the doctor strange-esque getup we've all seen in the trailer).  
> another warning: an endgame reference for the 0.0001% of us who haven't seen it yet.  
> \---  
> peter finally makes a move.

you and peter were inseparable.

ned and mj (not michelle, she’d insisted) had taken to calling you the wonder twins. you waited for him outside bean instead of inside, so that peter could say _two black coffees, medium not iced please and thank you_ , and you two could fight over who got to pay; except on saturdays, which was the morning after friday night movie nights and you both needed a large coffee. shanice never made your drinks. she seemed to be trying to avoid peter, which only made him confused and a little sad. selfishly, you were happy about it. (if she were to make a move, i’d lose everything, you thought).

it took three glorious, sun-drenched weeks of relationship limbo before something finally happened beyond little forehead kisses and waking up on each other’s couches.

peter was nervous when he approached you on november 19, 2025. it was past your daily coffee meeting and it wasn’t friday, either. but he found you, sitting in the park under bonnie the tree, reading an anthology of classical english poetry.

_-uh, y/n?_

_-hey, peter! how’d you find me?_

_-i asked mj._

_-you asked--_

_-never mind about that, i just have to get something off my chest._

_-what is it?_ you knew about the nightmares he had about the blip. you held him through his screams when he fought mysterio again in his mind. and you made chamomile tea for him afterwards with one cube of sugar and no milk. _you know you can talk to me._

_-y-yeah, yeah, i know._ it wasn’t like him to stutter.

_-peter, are you okay?_

_-oh! uh, yeah. yeah, i’m totally fine._

_-you big dork,_ you said, laughing and pushing him playfully. _just tell me._

_-doyouwannagooutwithme?_

_-uh, what?_ you cringed at your stupidity when you saw his terrified expression. _sorry, i just didn’t hear you. could you repeat it?_

_-y/n l/n, i don’t know if i’m the only one who feels this way, or if you do feel this way, or if i’m just imagining it, but we--_

_-of course i’ll go out with you, peter, you adorable dumbass,_ you interrupted, blushing. his face lit up like a candle, and a huge, quirky grin spread over his cheeks. he looked five years younger instantly. his brown curl, which never seemed to go the same direction as all his other hair, glowed with the slow apricot sunlight that accompanies golden hour in upstate new york.

he noticed your staring. _what?_

_-nothing,_ you said, leaning in tentatively.

eagerly, peter closed the distance. you weren’t sure whether the blood pounding in your ears was your heartbeat or his, whether his cool breath on your neck was real, whether you were imagining it all, but you were brought back to life when your lips finally touched.

and suddenly, you were kissing, once, twice, forever.

it was messy and sweet and deep. it was dainty and intimate, fierce and passionate, colored in pastel hues by the overwhelming combined smell of fall and peter’s woodsy-musk cologne. you dug your fingers into his chestnut curls and pulled gently, which drew a breathy moan from him. the sound made your lips part slightly and he pulled you into a world where there was only you and peter and the taste of black coffee and the vanilla on his lips. it stole your breath, gave it back, cracked open the autumn sky.

it was dizzying, and you clung to him as the only solid thing; it was urgent, sending shivers through your nerves and feelings to your brain you never knew existed; it was the absence of color and the first appearance of it in your life; it was the clash of darkness and light in a giddy moment. his hands ran feverishly, gingerly, through your hair, you pulled your hands from his head and knotted them in his dress shirt, pulling him to you with a sort of wild abandon. it was perfectly imperfect in a way that made you disregard the cliché.

when you finally pulled away, he followed you for a moment before finally letting you go.

_-wow._

_-yeah._ he smiled angelically. _it's never like that, for me at least._

_-it's my first kiss, so i wouldn't know. but that was insane, by my standards._ peter’s cheeks were apple-red and his hair was messy in a way that made you want to _do things._

the words left his lips like a dream. _i’ll pick you up at seven at your place, and we can do it all over again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're welcome for the fluff! so i'm busy tomorrow, but the next chapter i'll shoot for to be up the day after. as always, leave kudos and comments. what do you want to see next?
> 
> i'm also looking for a beta reader to tell me if my kiss scenes are up to par ;p leave a comment if you're interested, i'll figure out how to contact you (eventually lol).


	6. the first date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so here's a setup chapter for how i'm gonna cover the mysterio plot hole from last chapter... technically, the reader isn't supposed to know about it yet but i've got a plan (does that make me nick fury yet?)  
> \--  
> you and peter on a date. what could go wrong?

peter was nervous.

without may in his little temporary apartment that wasn’t the stark building, he had no one to give him a pep talk or shine his shoes. he tried calling happy, but he was on a date with the aunt in question. he would have called mr. stark, but of course, he couldn’t.

so peter took a shower, pored over a closet of suits, and bought roses by himself. he lingered for a solid half hour over the decision between lancome and burberry cologne, spent an hour picking out his outfit, used five different products in his hair, and brushed his teeth three times.

he was snapped out of his frantic preparation by the bing of his phone, and he prayed to the peter-tingle gods it was happy with some long-lost penny of advice from tony the playboy king. but it was shanice, again, trying to get between y/n and him.

_[shanice abioye: heyyy cutie ;)]_

_[shanice abioye: wyd???]_

_[peter p: getting ready for a date]_

_[shanice abioye: who’s the lucky girl]_

_[peter p: y/n. i’m about to pick her up. bye.]_

_[shanice abioye: whyyyyy talk to meeee]_

he left her on read.

across the town, you were equally anxious. you’d bought a new outfit for the occasion: five hundred hard-earned dollars worth of reformation slip dress and vince camuto nude heels that pinched your toes and made you long for your trusty doc martens. you didn’t wear a jacket, because you knew peter would jump at the change to lend you his. you washed your face with the peach soap, tried and failed to do your hair, and dusted peachy blush and a bit of highlighter over your cheeks along with your favorite tried-and-true lip gloss from a korean brand. then you paced your apartment nervously until peter arrived.

he rang your doorbell at 7 pm on the dot. he was waiting, smelling of musk and pines and a hint of cottony smell that seemed to stick to him from your apartment. his hair was combed neatly except for that one unruly curl, and he carried an armful of fragrant crimson roses. the night was cool and a velvety dusk sky started to give way to the inky black of november nights. a crescent moon shed gloriously pale light over his hopeful smile and softened features.

his mouth opened slightly and his ears reddened when he saw you. he almost dropped the flowers. _you look, uh, really really good._

_-thanks,_ you said, breathing in the scent of him. he offered you his arm, and you linked yours in his, heading towards his black cadillac in an old-fashioned promenade.

_-by the way,_ you asked, curious, _where do you work?_ he looked at you in confusion. _not trying to be rude,_ you corrected yourself (it’s the first date and i messed up already, you thought). _but you show up in a different shirt each day, and you own a cadillac and a rolls-royce. it’s like you knew tony stark or something._

he froze. _what makes you say that?_

_-i don’t know, because tony stark was filthy rich?_

peter eyed you. _yes, he was._

_-yeah…_ you said, squirming under his suddenly penetrating gaze. _what about it?_

_-nothing,_ said peter, crossing his fingers and hoping you’d forget it.

_-okay,_ you replied, trying not to press, with a trusting smile that made peter’s heart melt creamy-rose into his dress shoes. he led you to the car in a gentlemanly fashion before offering to open the car door for you instead of just opening it, not wanting to offend you. charmed, you accepted and he waited for you to sit down before placing the roses in your arms and heading to the driver’s side. the car ride was far from awkward. he laughed and made you laugh. you teased each other, alluded to inside jokes until tears formed in your eyes, and spent time leaning your head on his shoulder and just savoring his presence.

dinner was a delicate blur. peter ordered champagne and you ate fancy salad among candles and red silk tapestries until you could burst. you kissed again and again, each time bringing a new feeling, from urgent and frantic to slow and seductive to sweet and delicate. they were explosive and delicious and you could taste the champagne on his lips. at the end, he slipped the waiter his card and you both stepped outside to admire the stars. he saw you shiver once and immediately gave you his jacket.

the night sky, sprinkled with stars like little particles of glow-in-the-dark paint, reminded you immensely of peter’s eyes. you snuggled into his arms and he sighed into your hair. it didn’t, somehow, feel like a first date. it felt like a twentieth date, like a hundredth date, like all the movie nights and daily coffee meetings and netflix marathons and sleepovers rolled into one.

_-let’s take this back to my place,_ murmured peter, rubbing your shoulders soothingly. sleepily, you nodded and allowed him to pick you up bridal-style and carry you to the car.

you didn’t take your makeup off. you took off your dress and bra with no shame, and peter didn’t try anything, because he knew you were tired and besides, he couldn’t dream of disrespecting you. he helped you step into an oversized stark industries t-shirt and sweatpants, and you cuddled up in his bed, nestling your face into his chest and falling asleep with his breath on the top of your head.

the bliss lasted until two a.m., which was when peter sat straight up and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fluff! next chapter is gonna be a lot of angst for peter but its ok... as per usual, comments and kudos! also still looking for a beta reader soo reach out


End file.
